


we go in circles

by kamui



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamui/pseuds/kamui
Summary: This is the life cycle of a true love.





	we go in circles

**Author's Note:**

> i havent read gintama in a long while, so please do condone any inconsistencies i may have made. haha

**birth**

Oniichan was a strong boy born into a shanty house in a universe where storms never die. Everybody hated him. What a disgraceful boy, they whisper behind his small shoulders, he and his family do not belong here, they are dirt, like him. The words are intentional and painful like barbed wires tangling around oniichan’s tiny ankles, but to Kagura they do not make sense. Maybe it was because she was still too young, her infant mind only revolving around what will oniichan cook for dinner today, what will oniichan and I play tomorrow, will oniichan let me sleep with him tonight. Or maybe it was because the moment she laid eyes on oniichan, she is in love for the first time, and nothing else not even the vile sadistic smirks of the neighborhood thugs who surround oniichan and kick him until he is black and blue, could ever make her un-love him.

In this lonely planet, where daddy was never home, where mommy was a wilting flower in a secondhand futon, where people speak only with fists and blood, where the rain keeps pouring in an infinite rondo from a rumbling sky, oniichan took her restless cries with his bruised and bandaged hands, and fed her hunger and loneliness with a perfected smile that said someday things will be better and I will take you to a place where you can eat as much egg on rice as you want. He rubs her head lovingly, and with every gentle stroke his words are hammered into her heart as if they held the universal truth. 

Kagura, oniichan says after he finishes brushing her hair and fixing her pajamas, don’t forget to kiss mommy goodnight today. And he takes her hand gently and guides her sleepy footsteps to mommy’s room, where she has been lying, pale-faced and weak-voiced, all afternoon. Kagura watches as oniichan quickly kneels by mommy’s side, whispering in a low voice, mommy, how do you feel, do you need anything, I will ask for food again from the uncle next door. Before mommy could reply, oniichan quickly disappears, and returns after Kagura snuggles up to mommy to kiss her on the cheek, holding a glass of warm water for mommy and a plate of biscuits for Kagura to eat.

Mommy used to tell her that sometimes, love cannot fill an empty stomach; she says this during the days when daddy still stayed at home, working night jobs and coming home with food that is enough to feed only her and oniichan. She remembers that during those days, oniichan would say he ate with his teacher today, so he is not hungry, and then would give half of his share to mommy and the other to Kagura who says she is still hungry. Kagura is young but her sharp eyes see things mommy is too weak to notice: the way oniichan’s ghostly pale skin is sticking like a thin sheet of aluminum foil on his protruding cheekbones, the way oniichan’s wrist bones peek out from the sleeves of his red cheongsam when he is handing Kagura her plate of food—and suddenly, Kagura is not so hungry anymore.

That night, when everybody is asleep, Kagura rouses from bed to the sound of oniichan crouching by the window devouring her leftover biscuits in small, careful bites, as if he wanted to savor what little piece he had left; and she runs to him as fast as her tiny legs could take her and suddenly she turns into a small ball of tears and oniichan is soothing her with quiet, gentle whispers; oniichan thank you for feeding us today.

 

* * *

  **death**  

Happy birthday to you Kagura, she tells herself, opening a can of expired sardines on a table with three empty chairs. The rain is pouring outside, like it does every day, and there is an unopened letter on the floor that read in hastily scribbled letters: To My Daughter. She doesn’t bother to read, because when mommy was still alive she had always said that words never substituted for food in their stomachs—or for presence when you need it the most. Her seat at the table faces the open window, daddy hasn’t got money to fix it yet so it is flapping outside against the concrete walls of their tiny shanty house. She remembers mommy used to sit here when she waited for everybody to come home, because it directly faced the cobblestones that opened up to the main street. Showers of rain are leaking through the broken window and spilling over to the small table that carried a single picture frame toppled over a few days ago by the strong winds. She doesn’t wipe it up because that was oniichan’s job.

Oniichan hasn’t been home for two weeks now. But maybe he is coming home today, she thinks, because it is Kagura’s birthday. Maybe oniichan scraped up some money to buy her ramen to eat, or maybe if she is feeling a little spoiled, some pork from the wet market, and they will feast on it together because today is a special day. Yes, yes, that is why he is not home yet. This is what she tells herself the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, until months have passed and the seats in the table are still empty, and her tongue as forgotten the taste of sardines because leftover rice from the sympathetic old lady across the street is all she eats now. Daddy’s letter has collected dust on the unswept floor.

This is death, but not the absolute, tangible kind. This one is abstract, one that you cannot see with your eyes but you can feel within the depths of your being. They say this kind of death is just as painful as absolute death, because this one has no ending. There is something that dies here every single day and it started from the day oniichan wrapped some clothes into a worn out rug and walked away from their pitiful home, never looking back. She doesn’t think about that day—the day when the smiles in oniichan’s face wore off, replaced by some fake happiness that said there is no hope here, the day daddy came home for mommy’s burial and reality came crashing down her tiny little shoulders when she saw oniichan lose control and the hopelessness etched in daddy’s face like mommy’s name carved on a piece of chipped rock, the day words that would leave the deepest wounds were thrown around like poisonous darts: to daddy, to oniichan, and to little Kagura ( _YOU DID NOTHING_ , _DADDY DON’T KILL HIM, GET LOST_ ). That day, the storms rumbling in the heavens cried for two deaths: for mommy, forever buried several layers beneath the soil of this planet of poverty and lost dreams, and for oniichan who followed her.

 

* * *

**rebirth**  

In one of Kagura’s dreams, there is a silver-haired man holding a long wooden-stick, and she thinks he is her fairy god mother. He is much, much older than oniichan, and in his dead eyes wrung with years of exhaustion she sees the history of many deaths, and chaotic war stories from a planet far, far away. But there is a lot of sun there and many trees and dried seaweed. He asks her if she wants to come with him, and he says that while picking his nose, and Kagura thinks it is disgusting because this man is old and because oniichan had always scolded her when she picked her nose in front of him or mommy. But she doesn’t know why she takes his hand, her small feet jumping and skipping to his side, away from the lonely house in the lonely planet where everybody left her behind to feed on the rubbles of a failed happy ending.

What is your name, she asks. Gin-chan, he says, and she repeats it in her head over and over and over (GIN-CHAN GIN-CHAN GIN-CHAN) in an infinite loop until the rumbling grey clouds part to reveal the sun rising like magic, until her empty, growling stomach is filled fruits and fried eggs and sometimes ramen and pork, until the smell of gunpowder and rusting blood in the air disappear into the scent of dusty futons and the sweat of those ancient swordsmen in a planet from mommy’s bed time stories, until her tiny ankles recharge with the strength to carry her away from this crumbling house with three empty seats at the table. She opens her eyes, and wakes up in an apartment with overdue rent, there are people screaming and shouting outside, and she sees Gin-chan and a boy with glasses who says good morning Kagura-chan, let’s eat breakfast, and thinks, for the second and last time in her life, she is in love.


End file.
